The Date
by quirky cricket
Summary: After five years apart, two friends run into each other again. There's chemistry, and they decide to catch up over dinner. What's the worst that could happen? Rated T for suggestiveness & language
1. chapter 1: the setup

**chapter 1: the setup**

"What is this?" Phoebe looked at the chart for her next patient, a Papillon. A mysterious yellow dot had appeared next to the dog's name, covering a red one that she hadn't noticed before. "What does this yellow dot mean?"

"Nothing!" Melinda, one of the vet techs, responded.

"Then why is it on the chart?"

"It means..." Amber, the tech with what Phoebe thought of as "truth Tourette's" - the uncontrollable urge to tell the truth, often at inappropriate times - began.

"It means they might be due for heartworm." Melinda replied.

"I just saw Buttons last week." Phoebe glanced at the file for another patient with a yellow dot. "I spoke with her owner about preventative heartworm medication already. He knows that we're in a low-risk area."

"So you must've put yellow on there, meaning maybe not doing the preventative." Melinda's face was nearly blank.

"I don't put stickers on charts. I WRITE in the charts." Phoebe argued. "Let me see those." She grabbed two charts for the patients she was seeing later that day. "Why did you put a red dot on this one?" She held up a file for Millie, a Dalmatian.

"Because... Dr. Crosby wants to see that patient." Amber's eyes were wide. She was lying, and Phoebe knew it.

"That patient has specifically requested to see me." Phoebe said firmly.

"How do you know?" Amber asked.

"BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN MY BEST FRIEND SINCE THIRD GRADE!" Phoebe couldn't help yelling. There was no way Keesha had requested to see any other vet. Phoebe would have delivered Millie if the puppy's breeder hadn't already had a good vet, and the breeder even knew that Keesha's specific request was for Phoebe to treat her dog. Phoebe met Millie the day she was born - even before Keesha had. The girls were up to something, and there was nothing she could do about it. They'd messed with her charts before, and she was hoping to nip it in the bud this time. She wished she could discipline the techs, but Dr. Crosby didn't let her do anything. He only tolerated her more holistic approach, and allowed limited vaccines only on patients who agreed for a yearly wellness check. Keesha had told Phoebe to quit. But she couldn't, not until she found somewhere to go. The holistic practice in town wasn't looking for a usually mild-mannered new veterinarian who specialized in dogs and cats.

"Oh." Amber said softly.

"Just chill out, Phoebe." Melinda started. "Dr. Crosby can see Millie this time. He'd like you to see Duke here at 4:30." She handed Phoebe a Rottweiler's file with a green sticker.

"Tell me what the green means." Phoebe took a deep breath. "I can't help the patients unless you tell me what the color code means."

"Fleas." Amber tried.

"It means fleas?" Phoebe asked flatly. "Fleas how? Has fleas? Is on flea preventative? Had fleas? Is about to get fleas?"

"Limited vaccinations?" Amber tried again. Melinda rolled her eyes and walked away.

"Amber, please." Phoebe asked gently once Melinda had left. "Please tell me what the stickers mean."

"It means they're single." Amber said softly. "Green means the owner is single. And a guy."

"No." Phoebe's stomach sank.

"Yellow means it's not clear - no wedding ring, or maybe a divorce, or they have a girl in the emergency contacts..."

"No..."

"Red means they're female or married. Or old, but Melinda's been making some of those yellow or green depending on..."

"So you and Melinda are pushing the green coded patients on me?" Phoebe asked. Amber nodded. "And taking my regular patients and giving them to Dr. Crosby?" Amber gulped. "What does he think of this?"

"He thinks you better get married soon or he'll think you're gay." Melinda reappeared with a can of soda.

"I wish it was my idea." Dr. Crosby nodded, coming into the break room. "How long has it been for you, Phoebe?"

"Don't any of you care about the animals?" Phoebe cried.

"Well, sure, but you've obviously got some frustrations." Dr. Crosby tossed a Hot Tamale in his mouth.

Phoebe tilted her head back and counted to ten silently. "You feel this is in the best interests of your patients?" She asked after a moment.

"To have happy doctors? Absolutely." Dr. Crosby shrugged.

Phoebe took a deep breath. "I want my patients back."

"Then get yourself a boyfriend." Dr. Crosby replied.

"My personal life is none of any of your business!" Phoebe cried.

"We both know, Phoebe, that you would benefit from some human companionship." Dr. Crosby began. "Why not begin looking among fellow animal lovers?"

"Because this is a veterinary office, not a matchmaking - place!" Phoebe fumed.

Dr. Crosby shrugged. "I met my wife when she brought that two-week old kitten in and I taught her to bottle-feed it. It'll work for you. Just be willing to let it happen."

Phoebe shook her head. "It's so unprofessional."

"Being professional isn't the answer to everything." Dr. Crosby smiled.

"Give me my patients back." Phoebe wished she could demand it.

"I'll let you have Millie." Dr. Crosby conceded. "For now."

Phoebe wanted to go in the parking lot and scream.

"But she's been rescheduled to Monday. We've got a Josephine overdue for a wellness check that John's working on right now." Dr. Crosby smirked.

"What kind of guy names his dog Josephine?" Melinda laughed. "Give him red, he's got to be gay."

"He's yellow -" Amber looked at the file. "It used to be a girl that brought Josie in."

"Dr. T, Josie's in the exam room." John, the only male tech, came back. Phoebe was glad that SOMEONE in the office acknowledged the fact that she'd completed four years of veterinary school. "They've been waiting already since all the other techs who already took lunch were busy." He glared at Amber and Melinda. Melinda rolled her eyes. Amber looked slightly remorseful.

"Get over yourself." Melinda smirked. "He's yellow - did you skip taking her temperature so Phoebe could have more time?"

"What?" Phoebe demanded. "Now you're not doing your job?"

"I'm HELPING you, Pheebs." Melinda reached for Phoebe, who angrily swatted her hand away and grabbed the chart. "You'll thank me later!"

Phoebe stood at the door to the exam room and looked in the window before glancing down at Josie's chart. Sure enough, there was a man there with the dog. She _had _been seeing more male owners lately. She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath before reading over the chart to prepare herself. The dog hadn't been in since last year for vaccinations and was overweight, had a poor coat, and the owner had declined a recommended dental cleaning. Dr. Crosby had not recommended the dog to go on a limited schedule - "Owner probably wouldn't bring her in if vax are unnecessary," he had written. _Great_, Phoebe thought. _An overweight dog's irresponsible owner. Just what I want in boyfriend material._

"Nervous?" Melinda asked. Phoebe resisted the urge to flip her off. She believed in being professional. She also wished Keesha were coming in so she could whine to her. At least it was Friday. _Maybe Keesha and I can go out for drinks or something._

"No." Phoebe replied. "Just angry." _It's almost over, Phoebe. Just a few more patients._ She took yet another deep breath, opened the door, and put on her best "friendly neighborhood veterinarian" face. "Is this Josephine?"

The Papillon that was standing on the table was not at all overweight, well groomed, and happy about life. She stood on the table, her black butterfly ears perked and tail wagging, wiggled all over as Phoebe approached. The wiggling helped Phoebe forget all the previous drama and just be with the dog, who was also a licking maniac. "What a sweet girl she is!"

"Phoebe?" The owner asked. "Is that you?" Phoebe looked across the examining table and could feel herself blushing. She'd never been as good with the owners' names and faces as she was with the dogs'. She remembered every dog who'd ever been on her table, but not the owners. This one she remembered.

"Ralphie?" She laughed once, uncomfortably. "What are you doing here?" She internally winced. What a stupid question! Ralphie had always been handsome, but seeing him here with his dog, who was doing quite well, was definitely doing him favors. He was wearing green scrubs and a Phillies baseball cap.

"Getting my dog a check-up." Ralphie smiled. "How have you been?" He came around the table to hug Phoebe. "I haven't seen you in years!" He reached out to give Phoebe a hug, but the brim of his hat knocked her in the forehead. "Sorry," he turned his hat backwards and hugged her.

Phoebe hoped that Ralphie didn't feel that the hug was as awkward as she felt it was. Part of her thought that stupid Melinda and Dr. Crosby - whose first name she was forbidden to use - were right about her needing to go out more, and she hated it. "I know!" She tried swallowing the lump in her throat. "Since... since college."

"Right." Ralphie let go of her. "My, uh - my ex used to bring Josie in here. She saw some Dr. Cosby - but they said he wasn't available."

Phoebe briefly imagined Bill Cosby as her boss and wished it were true. At least there would be more Jello and happiness in the office. "Dr. Crosby, right." Phoebe said. "He's been really busy lately," _with all the rest of MY clients_, Phoebe finished internally, "so I've been picking up the slack."

"He's not giving you the problem patients, is he?" Ralphie asked. "Because I know that she - didn't always do the best by our - my - girl here." He stroked the dog lovingly, and she turned up to lick his arm. "She loved the idea of having a dog, but when it came down to nail trimming and poop scooping, she just kind of... stopped. So anyway, I took Josie once we split up and I've been trying to do right by her."

"Yeah." Phoebe's heart melted a little as she nodded. "Josie - is that what you've always call her?"

"Linda used to call her Fifi, but I think that sounds stupid."

Phoebe laughed. "She looks great! She's lost a lot of weight and her coat is stunning. Have you been taking her to a groomer?"

"Yeah, I did once, but then I figured I'd just brush her out myself. I put her on a diet and exercise regime, you know, for her weight, and then we took some training classes. She's really smart!" Ralphie sounded a little proud of himself. _You have got to be kidding. _Phoebe thought. _This is too good. It's got to be a set up. _"I wasn't so sure about her at first - I mean, she's kind of frou-frou looking, but she's just such a great dog."

"Papillons usually are." Phoebe smiled. Josie was soaking up the attention. "Her coat is lovely, and her nails are a good length."

"So how long have you been a vet?" Ralphie asked as Phoebe felt Josie's ribs.

"Well, I've been out of school for about a year now." Josie tried to lick Phoebe as she lifted the dog's lips to look at her teeth. "I'm doing some work on the side with a holistic practice, looking to deal with more holistic treatments, but I want a foundation in allopathic medicine as well. She's got a very sweet temperament - you're very lucky that she likes the vet this much. Her teeth are great."

"I brush them." Ralphie explained. Phoebe wondered if he were sucking up to her. He did seem eager about pointing out how he was doing everything right. It would explain how well things seemed to be going with the dog.

"So what are you up to these days?" Phoebe asked as she picked up her otoscope.

"I'm a physician." Ralphie explained. "I didn't just wear scrubs so I could match you."

"What kind of physician?" Phoebe tried not to think of how weird it was to catch up with an old friend while gazing into his dog's ears, or the fact that Ralphie seemed to be almost staring at her. She was used to avoiding eye contact, but not from men her own age.

"Sports medicine. I'm at the university hospital, and I mostly work with their athletes." Ralphie said. "It's awesome; I love it."

"Good!" Phoebe looked at Josie's eyes. "So do you do any surgery or just general practice?"

"I do some surgery; I initially certified for emergency medicine, then got a fellowship and specialty in sports medicine." Ralphie kept trying to make eye contact with Phoebe, who seemed either busy or unwilling or both at any given moment. "You wouldn't believe -"

"Oh, I would." Phoebe looked directly at him and smiled. "I deal with dogs, Ralphie. Dogs eat things. You wouldn't believe the x-rays I've seen."

Ralphie laughed. "You got me there. I didn't want to do gastroenterology for that reason. Or pediatrics. You know what kids eat?"

"You know what dogs eat?" Phoebe countered. Josie put her paw up on Ralphie to get some attention. Ralphie and Phoebe stared across the table at each other for a moment. "Anyway," Phoebe looked down, embarrassed at dropping her guard. "Josie looks awesome. I'd just want to discuss heartworm preventative, vaccines, and diet with you for a moment before you go."

"Before we do that..." Ralphie started, then swallowed before taking a deep breath and scratching the back of his neck. "Would you like to go get something for dinner?" He had kind of a sheepish, boyish charm to him. "So we can catch up and stuff."

"Um... sure." Phoebe bit the inside of her cheek. "I - let me check my schedule. I'll be right back." She rushed out of the exam room and took a deep breath. "How many more patients do I have today?"

"Do you need to go early?" Melinda asked. "I can give Dr. Crosby your last two..."

"I don't need to - I just -" Phoebe stammered. "I ran into an old friend and we -"

"Poof! You don't have any more." Melinda grinned. "Are you sure he's not gay?"

"Shut up." Phoebe was beginning to feel too jittery to be as angry "His ex - a _woman _- used to bring Josie in."

"Oooh, a rebound..." Melinda furrowed her brow.

"We're friends." Phoebe insisted. "We haven't seen each other for five years. We're just going to cat

"You're red. And shaking." Melinda pointed out.

"Shut up." Phoebe said and walked back to the break room and got a glass of water.

"Are you okay, Dr. T?" John asked.

"I'm fine. Thanks for taking care of Josie." Phoebe downed her 16 ounce glass of water. "You do a good job." She walked back to the exam room before John could reply.

"Well?" Ralphie asked.

"It looks like I'm done after you." Phoebe replied. She saw Melinda and Amber peeking through the window in the exam room.

Ralphie looked at his watch. "Well I'd like to change and take Josie home, if you don't mind, so I can pick you up around 5 - I mean, if it's okay for you to tell me where you live."

Phoebe laughed awkwardly. "That's fine - I usually bike to work anyway. That's another reason for me to wear red scrubs. Visibility. You know."

"You bike? That's awesome." Ralphie nodded excitedly.

"Not seriously or anything, no, just a few blocks to and from work. And around with my dog." Phoebe explained. She fumbled in her lab coat for her prescription pad. "Here's my address and my phone number." She scribbled.

"See you at five, then?" Ralphie asked.

"Can it be six? I'm going to need to shower and stuff." Phoebe countered. "Otherwise I'll smell like the vet's office."

"Sure thing. See you then." Ralphie hugged Phoebe again. "C'mon Josie, let's go!" He clipped the leash to Josie's harness and lifted her up off the table. As the door to the exam room shut, Phoebe realized she hadn't finished the exam.

"Wait!" She tried turning the doorknob, but the door was locked. She patted her pockets, but her keys were missing. "Melinda, stop locking me in the exam rooms!"

"He's gone," Melinda opened the door and held out Phoebe's keys. "Guess he'll just have to come back."

"You'd better not charge him for that visit." Phoebe grabbed her keys.

"Don't worry about it." Melinda smiled. "Go home and get ready for your date."

"Wear something revealing." Amber suggested. "That works for me anyway."

"It's not a date." Phoebe hung up her white coat and stuffed her stethoscope in the pocket. "We're old friends catching up."

"It's a date." Melinda insisted. "And you wrote him a prescription for your phone number."

"Oooh," Amber cooed. "How sweet!"

"It's paper. Paper I had in my pocket." Phoebe put her purse over her shoulder. "I'm going to go get ready now."

"And you're taking time to get ready..." Melinda added.

"Why don't you two go back to work?" Phoebe suggested, grabbing her helmet. "You've only got one vet for the next two hours - you'd better actually do what you're supposed to."

"Fine then. Enjoy your date!" Melinda called after Phoebe as she left the office and unlocked her bike off the bike rack. She rolled up her pant leg and put her helmet on, then began to pedal home. Her mind raced. What about Huntington? He would hate being alone. It looked like she wouldn't get to have drinks with Keesha after all - so maybe Keesha could watch Huntington. That is, unless Carlos objected. Carlos had this crazy idea that Huntington was probably evil since he was a pit bull. Phoebe sighed. That was not an argument she wanted to have, but Hunt & Millie always had a great time together. _Maybe I should type up my half of the conversation and give it to Keesha to read to Carlos... unless Carlos is just joking but nobody knows it... _Sometimes his jokes weren't totally apparent, and the brain-swelling thing could be some weird joke. You could never tell with Carlos. He'd made all kinds of weird comments about Millie when Keesha brought her home, and Phoebe had been sure it would've been the end of their relationship - but Carlos was kidding. She had no idea how Keesha figured Carlos out, but it had been working out well for them for years. As she pulled up to her house and put her bike in the shed, Phoebe pulled out her cell phone and dialed Keesha.

"Whatup, Pheebs." Carlos half-asked, half-said.

"Why are you answering Keesha's phone?" Phoebe asked.

"You don't want to talk to me?" Carlos sounded way too sad.

"I would have called _you _if I wanted to talk to you."

"But you called Keesha."

"Because I want to talk to Keesha."

"But you got me."

"Carlos..." Phoebe sighed. She heard Keesha in the background.

"Are you tormenting Phoebe again?" Keesha called.

"Maybe a little," Carlos said.

"Sorry," Keesha said.

"Why do you let him near your phone?" Phoebe wondered.

"He's awesome with solicitors."

"I see." Phoebe closed the shed door.

"So what's going on?"

"I may or may not be going to dinner tonight." Phoebe bit the inside of her cheek again. "And I think Hunts might need some Millie time."

"Hold on a minute - you're going out?" Keesha asked a little too loudly.

"Shush! Carlos is going to hear you!"

"That's what I want." Keesha explained.

"It's not a _date_." Phoebe insisted.

"Who asked whom?" Keesha asked.

"He asked me."

"Uh-huh. And he's picking you up?"

"Yes."

"And he's presumably paying for it?"

"I don't know." Phoebe turned the key to get into her back door, where she was nearly knocked over by 50 exuberant pounds of pit bull, but she gave a sit hand signal quickly. It's a lesson she had to learn the hard way.

"So who is this gentleman?" Keesha asked, taking a sip of her iced tea.

"Ralphie." Phoebe replied. Keesha started coughing. "Why are you even drinking when I'm talking to you about going out on a Friday night?"

"That was a poor decision." Keesha acknowledged. "So how did this happen?"

"He asked me and I said yes."

"Did you run him over with your bike like the last guy?"

"I did not run over Joe. I just bumped into him" Phoebe stood in front of her closet, looking for something to wear. "And Ralphie brought his dog in. The techs are trying to set me up again."

"So they set you up with Ralphie? Weird."

"Ralphie happened to be one of Dr. Crosby's patients that they transferred to me. Apparently most of the male owners have become my patients now."

"Sneaky." Keesha paused before taking a sip of her tea. "So you want us to dog-sit then?"

"If you would."

"Then I am gonna need details."

Phoebe sighed. "You know my details suck, Keesha."

"I want them not to suck. You are going for it." Keesha advised. "Full-court press."

"I told you, I don't do hockey."

"That's basketball." Keesha corrected. "And you're tall, so yes, you do."

Phoebe laughed. "Remember in high school when they drafted Tim to the varsity team because he's tall and black?"

Keesha laughed. "That was awesome. I've never had so much fun at basketball games..."

"Oh man he was bad..." Phoebe gasped.

"Anyway," Keesha interrupted and stopped laughing abruptly. "Seriously, Phoebe. Who else will understand your weird childhood like Ralphie?"

"You have a point."

"And he's not doing too bad for himself, now that that crazy bitch is out of the picture."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, the guys play poker sometimes and Carlos tells me everything. And I mean EVERYTHING."

"That's creepy."

"Wanda and I bugged the room once." Phoebe didn't know where this was going. "And Carlos gave me a better account than the bug."

"That's very creepy." Phoebe stood at her closet. "What should I wear?"

"Something that makes you feel good."

"Um..."

"That isn't scrubs."

"Dang."

"Just put on something comfortable and a little tight." Keesha advised. Phoebe was silent. "Don't make me come over there."

"Would you please?"

"He's picking you up. That would look sketchy. You can dress yourself, big girl."

"Fine." Phoebe pulled out a red t-shirt and her leastworn out pair of jeans.

"Are you wearing makeup?"

"No, should I?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"My makeup is really old."

"Do it. Wear it anyway." Keesha ran a mental inventory of other things Phoebe might forget. "Did you shave your legs?"

"Maybe..."

"Shave them. Shave them fast."

"What time is it?"

"You have half an hour. Go! Go! Go!" Keesha shouted. "Wear perfume. Not a lot, but put some in your cleavage."

"What cleavage?" Phoebe tossed her clean clothes in a heap on the vanity next to the sink, and pulled her bag of makeup from the back of a drawer and placed it on top of her clothes heap.

"Where your cleavage would be."

"Okay... I'm going to get in the shower. How do you want to get Hunty?"

Keesha thought a moment. "Carlos."

"Please, Keesh, no."

"I can't drive. I broke my foot."

"Not even this once? Really?" Phoebe asked. "I thought we were friends."

"We are, but Carlos is your friend too. He's coming over."

Huntington started barking.

"He's here now, isn't he?"

"We had a contingency plan." Keesha admitted.

"I'm in a _towel_." Phoebe threw a towel around her body.

"Carlos doesn't care."

"I care!"

"Bye Pheebs! Remember, details!" Keesha hung up.

"Crap..." Phoebe loped to the front door and found Carlos had already come in.

"You should lock your door, you know." Carlos said casually. "And put some clothes on!"

"I'm getting in the shower. Don't do anything stupid." Phoebe called as she ran back to the bathroom. As she showered and shaved, she started calming down. _It'll be fun._ She thought. _What's the worst that could happen?_

* * *

**author's note: **When will Phoebe learn that she should never, EVER ask that question? Fixed a name error._  
_


	2. chapter 2: the long drive into town

**chapter ****2: ****the ****long ****drive ****into ****town**

"Is this really the sexiest outfit you have?" Carlos asked.

"What?" Phoebe called from the shower, hoping she'd heard wrong.

"Don't you have anything that shows a little more skin?"

"Carlos!"

"I'm calling Keesha. We're worse off than she thought."

"I thought she couldn't drive over here."

"Ooh!" Carlos said suddenly. "Wait a second. You're a crazy dog person. Do you have any sweaters for Hunt? That would be all tight and –"

"Dog sweaters are for DOGS, Carlos!"

"I'm just trying to help you! Jeez!"

"By telling me to wear a dog sweater?" Phoebe rolled her eyes. "I can just imagine the conversation, 'That's a really great shirt! Where'd you get it?' 'Oh, Petsmart. It was four dollars.' Really, Carlos? REALLY?"

"It was an idea!" Carlos laughed. "By the way, I was joking."

"No you weren't. You're just saying that to cover for your stupid idea."

"How do you know?"

"I don't, but I'm _hoping_ that you're joking. Wearing a dog sweater on a date, I swear…"

"So Keesha may or may not have sent me over with some clothes."

"Of course." Phoebe nicked herself on her right calf. "And you know it won't fit."

"You could always stuff your bra…"

"Just stop talking, Carlos."

When Phoebe got out of the shower, she quickly toweled off and tossed on her jeans and a shirt Keesha had sent over. It hung lifelessly on Phoebe's thin body.

"It's not doing you any favors." Carlos admitted.

Phoebe tried not to be entirely grossed out that Carlos was staring at her torso. "Give me my red shirt back." She pulled on the red scoop-necked shirt and went to dry her hair.

"Use this." Carlos ordered, tossing a bag of makeup onto the bathroom counter.

"Fine. Just not the mascara." Phoebe bargained. "I don't want to share eye bugs with Keesha."

Five minutes later, Phoebe was done. "Well?"

Carlos stared her up and down. Finally, he said, "Passable."

"Thanks." Phoebe rolled her eyes, then started stuffing Huntington's toys into a tote bag as the dog watched, enthralled. "Here's Hunty's stuff."

"I think he may need more than that." Carlos winked. "You know… in case you want to be alone tonight…"

Not wanting to argue any further, Phoebe stuffed two more toys in the bag and handed it to Carlos. "There. You happy?"

"It's not about my happiness." Carlos smirked as Phoebe put on Huntington's leash and collar. "Okay, are we ready?"

Phoebe stooped down and kissed Huntington on the head. "Don't let Uncle Carlos get to you, okay?"

"Go get 'em, tiger." Carlos winked again.

"You're seriously creeping me out, Carlos." Phoebe snapped.

"Just remember, if this doesn't work out, you can always try girls!" Carlos waved as he left. Immediately, Phoebe called Keesha.

When Phoebe told Keesha what Carlos had said, Keesha replied that Carlos was being ironic.

_Does __he __even __know __what __that __means?_ Phoebe wondered.

"Help." Phoebe said. "I'm getting nervous."

"Don't worry!" Keesha replied. "Just be yourself!"

"But being me hasn't got me much of anywhere." Phoebe said.

"You just haven't been in the right situation yet. Being yourself got you this date."

"The techs forcing me into taking only male clients got me into this date."

"You'll do fine!" Keesha said. "So now I'm not going to respond to calls or texts from you unless you're in mortal peril."

"And how will you be the judge of that?"

"You will mention mortal peril in the text."

"That could be the worst safe word ever." She was surprised to hear a knock on the door. Normally knocking was drowned out by Huntington's barks. "Okay, I think he's here."

"Good luck!" Keesha said.

Phoebe stuffed her phone in her pocket and opened the door.

"Long time, no see." Ralphie said. He was obviously nervous. Instead of his green scrubs, he was wearing a light green button-up shirt, jeans, and had ditched the baseball cap. Phoebe laughed awkwardly. Ralphie wondered where his guts and hugginess had gone. "So… where do you want to go for dinner?"

"I thought you were picking." Phoebe said as they walked over to Ralphie's sedan. Ralphie held the passenger door open for her.

"I didn't really have anywhere in mind." Ralphie admitted, buckling his seatbelt. "We could, uh, drive into town and try to come up with something on the way."

"Works for me," Phoebe shrugged. Ralphie started the car and headed toward the freeway.

"Hey," Ralphie started, "Wanna go to South Philly and get some steaks?" In his mind, that would be a great start to a perfect date – the world's best cheesesteaks followed by a Phillies game. If he allowed himself to have the perfect date ever, it would be the Phillies winning the World Series. Now THAT would be a date. And if he remembered correctly, Phoebe was also into baseball. It could work.

"I'm vegetarian."

"Oh."

"I mean, not totally vegetarian." Phoebe quantified. "I used to be, but now I just don't eat red meat."

"So you could have a chicken steak." Ralphie suggested.

Silence. Phoebe didn't want to admit that, although she was raised in a suburb of Philadelphia, she'd never understood the draw of the Philly cheesesteak. She was weird that way, and not sure it was the right time to reveal this particular quirk to Ralphie.

"Sorry, I guess I just have steaks on the brain."

"You're fine." Phoebe kicked herself inwardly.

Ralphie half-remembered that Phoebe adored skee-ball. "Well… there's always Dave & Buster's…"

"Sure!" Phoebe thought that it was a great suggestion. A little friendly competition – and maybe a drink – would definitely help her forget that she was nervous. Maybe Ralphie would win her a stupid stuffed animal. It would be adorable. "I do love skee-ball. And you can get a steak."

"See, everyone wins!" Ralphie turned in the loop to get on the expressway into town. He'd really have rather gone elsewhere for a steak, but he was definitely willing to compromise. He tried not to think about the fact that they had TVs that often played the sports games he'd be watching if he were at home. After all, he was on a date, and the only sports he watched on dates were when it was really boring or if the date was to an actual sporting event. Another horrendous silence descended on the car.

"I haven't been to Dave & Buster's since –" Phoebe started, then immediately regretted it.

"Since when?"

"Since the only date I went on with Carlos." Phoebe gagged at the thought of it.

"You went out with Carlos? Carlos Ramon?"

"Yes. Once, while we were in college." Phoebe recalled. "I'm pretty sure it was a dare."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. It was the worst date ever." Silence persisted, so Phoebe continued. "He was watching some game the whole time. Football, I think. Then we played games – and Carlos had to win _everything._ At the end, he took all my tickets. I was handing them to some kid, and Carlos snatched them so he could get himself a shot glass."

"Did he give the shot glass to the kid?" _Stupid __question, __Tennelli._

Phoebe laughed. "What would a kid do with a shot glass?"

"I dunno… drink ridiculously small portions of orange juice?"

"Maybe." It wasn't that funny, but it was the funniest thing of the night so far. "I will never forget the look on that kid's face when I didn't stick up to Carlos. It's like he lost faith in adults forever."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"You weren't there." Phoebe replied. "He started screaming. I think he was really spoiled, but still."

"But you get along fine with Carlos now?"

_Except __when __he__'__s __giving __me __fashion __advice __or __telling __me __to '__put __out __or __get __out,' __yes, _Phoebe thought. "Yeah, he apologized for being such a jerk when he started dating Keesha. And he hasn't stolen from children again."

"That you've seen." Ralphie added. "I mean, Tim gets pretty upset when Carlos cleans him out at poker…"

"Tim's a sore loser, not a child." Talking about mutual friends was good; it put both parties at ease. "So you play poker with the guys?"

"How did you know?"

"Keesha told me."

"Yeah, I was out of commission for a while…"

"Why's that? Residency?"

"My ex."

"Oh."

_Way __to __make __it __awkward,_ Ralphie thought.

"Yeah, she didn't like me hanging out with the guys. Not when alcohol was involved. Or money." He chose not to tell her they started out playing for Monopoly money. There was no way Ralphie was going any further into debt; especially not to his friends. Arnold had been in a similar situation, what with law school and all.

"She sounds… mean." Phoebe chose her words carefully, remembering that Keesha had said worse.

_Change __the __subject. _"I mean, if I'd been going to games, I would've known you were around. I guess I thought you moved to California or something."

"Nah, I never made it to the West coast." Phoebe said. "I went to Penn for my DVM."

"Really? I went to med school at Drexel."

"Shut up! We were that close and never knew it?" Phoebe stared at him incredulously.

"I guess so!"

"Weird."

"Yeah, Linda was always telling me that Drexel is for nerds. She told me I should've gone to Penn." _The __correct __way __of __saying __that __was,__ "__I __was __considering __going __to __Penn.__" _Ralphie thought, frustrated at himself.

"Well, I don't think we would've had the same classes anyway, what with your people medicine." Phoebe tried to ignore the question that was weighing on her mind – why on earth Ralphie would date someone so mean to him.

"Yeah, you probably haven't been to any cadaver labs…"

"Any _people_ cadaver labs."

Silence.

"Why are we talking about dead bodies?" Ralphie wondered. Phoebe laughed.

"Because we're weird. I still can't believe we were across the street from each other this whole time…" Phoebe disregarded her residency and Ralphie's.

"No kidding." He wished he had gone to Penn, maybe he'd have run into Phoebe at a food truck (why was he still thinking about steaks?) somewhere. "I wasn't at the campus across from Penn though – the college of medicine is in center city."

"Right." Phoebe remembered. "So you're a doctor – like your mom."

"Sort of." Ralphie corrected. "She's a GP – general practitioner. I don't really care for sick people."

"That's not something I'd expect to hear from a doctor."

"That's why I went into emergency medicine. Broken bones I can handle."

"Germs you can't?"

"Of course I can handle germs. It's the icky pneumonia stuff. It's not my thing."

"Blood and guts are your thing?"

"I guess you could say that." Ralphie worried about coming off weird. "I really wanted to do sports medicine, and emergency medicine's a good way in."

"Really?"

"I mean, there's a lot of similarity between a guy getting hit by a car and a guy getting hit by a lineman." When Phoebe didn't say anything, Ralphie continued. "I guess I've always been more drawn to injuries and traumas rather than chronic conditions and diseases."

"Sure," Phoebe conceded. "How many HBCs do you get?"

"What?"

"HBC – hit by car."

"Oh, I had a couple vehicle accidents, yeah." Ralphie remembered. "Only one pedestrian hit by a car, thank God."

"I get a lot." Phoebe mused. "A lot. And a lot don't make it."

_And __now __we__'__re __talking __about __animals __getting __hit __by __cars. __Awesome. _Ralphie thought. He wondered if he should give her a hug – if he weren't driving down a freeway.

"I don't know, I guess I'd rather deal with disease than trauma. I'm not sure." Phoebe wondered aloud. "I'd rather keep them healthy in the first place."

"Yeah," Ralphie thought. "My mom's said that."

_Awkwardness __level __2: __reached. _Ralphie gritted his teeth slightly.

"How is your mom?" Phoebe asked politely.

"Oh she's great. She's got a few more years 'til retirement. She's thinking of moving out into the middle of nowhere or something."

"Oh nice."

"How's your dad?"

"Oh… he got let go a few years ago." Phoebe wished she hadn't asked about Ralphie's mom in the first place. "His tenure board didn't like him, I guess. He's teaching at a community college."

Ralphie didn't know what to say. Philadelphia wasn't nearly close enough. "So…"

"Yeah." Phoebe stared out the window.

"So I didn't get to meet your dog." Ralphie wondered why he hadn't asked the _vet _about her _dog_ before.

"Oh, I had Keesha & Carlos take care of him. He likes the company. He's used to it." Phoebe said. "I usually just hang around at home on Fridays."

"Sorry." Ralphie gave Phoebe a sheepish look.

"No, you're fine!" _Dammit, __not __again! _"I mean, _it's_ fine. I haven't seen you in a while, we needed to catch up."

"What kind of dog do you have?"

Phoebe kind of hated this question, especially from people whose opinions she cared about. She didn't want to dislike Ralphie. "Well, his name is Huntington – and he's an American Pit Bull Terrier mix."

"So a pit bull?"

Phoebe studied Ralphie's face for signs that she'd rather take a cab home. "Yeah. His mom was found tied to the railing of our clinic, about ready to give birth. He was born just after that, and I ended up bottle feeding the puppies. I couldn't let him go to another home."

"That's awesome." Ralphie said, unaware of the emotional turmoil going on in Phoebe's head. He'd always known that Phoebe was compassionate and had a love for animals, but her bottle-feeding puppies was just... adorable.

"Yeah, he's a great dog." Phoebe continued trying to read Ralphie's thoughts on pit bulls without boring holes in his head with her eyes. "Most pit bulls are."

The tone in Phoebe's voice alerted Ralphie that something else was going on. "Really?" He had no idea what to say.

"It's irresponsible owners who fight them and make them mean. Huntington may look scary to some people, but he'd never hurt anyone. He might lick you to death." Once the words started, they just didn't stop.

"How old is he?"

"He just turned two." Phoebe had no idea what Ralphie's angle was. _Maybe __it__'__s __best __to __just __ask_. "Do – do you like pit bulls?"

Ralphie thought a moment. He glanced at Phoebe and saw that she was anxious for an answer. "I like dogs."

_Dumbest answer ever._

"I mean, I know that people have fought them and stuff, but… I guess I haven't really thought about it."

"Did you get any dog bites in the ER?"

"Sure, but I wasn't asking for the dog's breed or anything. I'm there to help people, not judge dogs."

Phoebe was relieved.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, I guess I just get nervous talking about pit bulls with people sometimes." Phoebe was surprised at how stupid that sounded. What she really meant was that she liked Ralphie, and his stance on pit bulls could've been a deal breaker. She just didn't want to admit it out loud.

"Why?"

Well now she was backed into a corner. "My ex hated them." _Okay, __at __least __we__'__re __even __now._ Ralphie thought. "He hated Huntington – when he was a puppy! How can anyone hate puppies?"

"He hated your PUPPY?" Ralphie was incredulous. "That's almost as – nevermind."

"Your ex hated puppies too?" Phoebe asked, smiling a little.

"She was a real winner." Ralphie rolled his eyes. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Yeah, me either."

"Sorry it keeps coming up."

Phoebe shrugged. "It's okay." She scratched at the side of her face, near her ear.

"It was just a long relationship, and…" Ralphie cringed. "I guess I'm talking about it anyway. I'll stop now." Fortunately, they were nearing the restaurant.

"Oh wow," Phoebe said, looking at the overflowing parking lot at Dave & Buster's.

"You'd think it was Friday night or something." Ralphie covered half of his face with his hand. "The wait is going to be forever."

"Well, we could always go somewhere else… What about there?" Phoebe pointed to a small pub nearby.

"Um, sure." Ralphie agreed as he parked.

"I'm sure they have steaks." Phoebe smiled at Ralphie charmingly.

"Yeah. Yeah they do." Ralphie unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

"What's wrong?" Phoebe asked.

"Nothing!" Ralphie lied. "Let's go in."

* * *

**author's ****note: **In the next installment, why Ralphie doesn't want to go to that restaurant!

In addition to the regular MSB stuff, I don't own Petsmart, the Phillies, Dave & Busters, or this random restaurant I made up.


	3. chapter 3: dinner

**chapter ****3: ****dinner**

_Everything __will __be __just __fine. __More __than __fine. __It__'__s __a __restaurant. __You __are __going __to __go __in __and __have __a __great __time, __and __you __will __never __hate __this __place __again._

Phoebe tried to ignore the fact that Ralphie had become very tense and quiet as they walked into the small restaurant. She knew that Ralphie could be chatty when nervous, so this was a bad kind of nervous. Maybe it reminded him of his ex or something. Maybe his ex killed someone here. Maybe his ex made him kill someone here. She was surprised at how much baggage came up in the car ride over.

Then again, maybe he was just tired. He was a doctor for crying out loud. He liked to see people who'd fallen off ladders and been smashed by football players. He had a hard job; she could relate. Her grandparents would love that she was on a date with a real, actual doctor. They loved that kind of stuff. She was kind of glad they didn't know Arnold had ended up being a lawyer, or they would've forced her to beg him for mercy and to pity marry her. Of course, she wasn't even supposed to be thinking about any of this. Maybe it was the nature of the therapy session ride over that was bringing up all this other junk.

As they crossed the threshold and went into the restaurant, Ralphie took a deep breath. _It__'__s __not __the __end __of __the __world. __It__'__s __a __restaurant. _Mentally, he imagined his heels digging in to the ground, leaving trails in the concrete and linoleum. Phoebe wondered if maybe they were in mortal peril and considered texting Keesha - _Ralphie __appears __to __be __in __mortal __peril. __Please __come __to __Penn__'__s __Landing_. Ralphie looked slightly sick. "Are you okay?" She asked, putting her hand on his arm tentatively.

"I'll be fine." Ralphie was determined. "Let's find a table."

The restaurant was a seat-yourself affair, and had definitely seen better days. "Okay." Phoebe smiled weakly. They sat at an old booth with cracked upholstery. After looking over the menu in silence, Phoebe decided to confront it. "Ralphie, what's wrong?"

"I'm okay."

"You can tell me." Phoebe leaned across the table. "Is it about her?"

"No." Ralphie exhaled. "You'll think it's stupid."

"Will I?"

"Probably." Ralphie looked up at the waitress who had appeared at the head of the table.

"Hi there, my name is Sally and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with anything to drink?"

"Water, please." Ralphie noticed that Phoebe used the mid-Atlantic pronunciation – "wooder" – as opposed to a Boston accent she'd acquired after spending some time with relatives there and managed to sneak in to random words. It made him smile a little, which was unexpected in this dump of a restaurant. He considered leaving. He could just grab Phoebe's arm and say "Let's get outta here" like the real Philadelphian tough guy he maybe could have been related to. Instead, he ordered a glass of water.

Ralphie looked at Phoebe. "I'm ready to order if you are."

"Sure."

Ralphie looked at the menu. "I'll have spaghetti."

After listening to him talk about no other food but cheesesteak, this was an interesting turn of events. Phoebe ordered chicken alfredo.

"All right, I'll have that right out." Sally walked off.

"I decided I don't feel like a steak." Ralphie explained. He'd much rather talk about his feelings for cheesesteaks. After finishing that sentence, he wondered what else he could say about them.

"I was wondering." Phoebe smiled. She decided that perhaps just being nice and supportive would help Ralphie feel better. They'd known each other so long – and through some of the weirdest stuff. What could he possibly be hiding?

"Their steaks really aren't that great." Ralphie said quietly. There was a deep lull in the conversation as Phoebe nodded. Finally, Ralphie looked down at the napkin he was fidgeting with. "I used to come here with my dad sometimes."

There it was.

_That__'__s __it? _Phoebe wondered. _That__'__s __ALL?_ She reached up to scratch her chin.

"Yeah." Ralphie took a deep breath. "Remember in senior year, how I had to have heart surgery?"

Phoebe couldn't have forgotten – Ralphie had been diagnosed with a heart condition that didn't respond to drugs. He'd had to have open heart surgery senior year, and his condition had damned him to only mild to moderate exercise. He'd been crushed; previously his plan was to be a professional football player. She nodded, remembering how weak he'd looked while he recovered in the hospital bed, and how helpless she'd felt as he wilted from a top football player into a kid who'd looked like he lost his entire life.

"He came here to see me after I got out of the hospital. He took me to lunch here. That's when I knew he wasn't coming back. That I'd failed him." Ralphie ignored all the thoughts that told him this wasn't a therapy session. "I couldn't even come to this part of town for months."

"I thought he'd been gone before that."

"He had." Sally put their waters down on the table, and Ralphie took a sip. "He had, but he'd always wanted me to play baseball, you know, and here I was telling him I couldn't. I wasn't focused on baseball anyway, but… that was his dream for me." Ralphie looked around and lowered his voice even further. "That's why he took me to those Mets games."

"Mets?" Phoebe felt almost betrayed. This was the Ralphie Tennelli that said, "You're not a real Phillies fan until you've punched somebody!" He'd said. Ralphie had become a real Phillies fan at 9 years old, when Carlos acted like the Mets were cool. Ralphie was not in the habit of punching anyone, really, unless they disrespected his Phillies.

"Yeah." Ralphie lowered his voice. "He's from New York. The Phils are my mom's team. I think she got rid of all the pictures of me in Mets gear."

Phoebe wondered at what point in her life Ralphie's mom had first punched someone in the name of the Phillies.

"I was going to tell him I'd got football scholarships anyway, but then this happened." He put a finger on his sternum, where Phoebe knew the scar was - the top of the scar was just peeking out behind the collar of his shirt. "Mom didn't call him at first. I went up to New York for the surgery and – nothing. He wasn't there. So when I finally got a hold of him and he said he'd have lunch with me, I was thrilled. I told him about the scholarships. I told him about the surgery. I told him I wanted to be a doctor. He wasn't happy. He was – disappointed. And that was hard to take from a guy who wasn't even there. He didn't even _know _me and he was disappointed."

"I'm so sorry." Phoebe put her hand on his. "We can leave if you want."

"Nah, we already ordered." Ralphie smiled. Phoebe hadn't left yet, even after this catharsis. This was worth staying. "Besides, that would be three places to try in one night."

"You're sure?"

"Sure." Ralphie squeezed her hand. "Thanks for listening. Sorry I'm kind of a mess."

"Well, I am too, so it looks like we're even." Phoebe smiled.

"Are you okay?" Ralphie asked. "Your face is red."

"Really?" Phoebe wished she carried a compact mirror like normal girls. Without thinking, she pulled her hand away from Ralphie and scratched by her ear again.

"You might want to look at that." Ralphie suggested.

"Sure, I'll be right back." Phoebe left her purse in the booth and went to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, and in front of the dingy, dirty tile, she saw her face – red and slightly puffy. She was confused. As she touched the red part of her face, it stung. Her face felt warmer than it should be. Suddenly, she realized: it was the makeup. She was reacting to the makeup. Frantically, she splashed warm water on her face, swearing to give Keesha a piece of her mind. Who knows how old that makeup was anyway? Phoebe grabbed a paper towel and wet it to scrub the mascara off.

When she looked in the mirror, she wanted to cry. Now she had a red puffy face with smeared mascara.

_Awesome. _

Phoebe grabbed another paper towel and started scrubbing. The foundation – what she was probably reacting to – came off easily and revealed more redness. The mascara wasn't waterproof and ran like crazy down her face. She looked awful. When she reached for a third paper towel to start drying her face, they were gone. There was no reserve roll at the top. "You've got to be kidding me." Phoebe scowled at her face in the mirror, considering her options. It was summer, so she had no jacket she could use. She couldn't use her shirt. Quietly, she made sure no one was in the restroom before she went into one of the stalls and pulled a decent quantity of toilet paper off a roll. She dried her face in the stall and flushed the paper. She came back to the sink, looked herself over in the mirror closely (the last thing she needed was to have toilet paper clinging to her face), and went back into the dining room. The food had arrived as she'd been in the bathroom. Ralphie hadn't touched his yet.

"What's wrong?" Ralphie asked, concerned.

"I think I'm reacting to the makeup I put on." Phoebe said softly as she sat down on the booth and scooted over to position herself behind her food. "I don't usually wear makeup." Ralphie leaned closer to examine her face.

"Your skin looks really irritated." He observed. "How are you feeling otherwise?"

"Stupid." Phoebe said. "Nothing else."

"Okay." Ralphie smiled. "Sorry – I have to think about anaphylaxis and everything, you know."

"It could just be irritation, I don't know, but whatever I did, my face is not happy."

"Well, let's eat."

"Sorry I took so long in there." Phoebe twirled the pasta on her fork. "Mascara."

"I wouldn't know." Ralphie shrugged. "What women do in bathrooms is a mystery to me."

There was only one way both of them could appreciate the full absurdity of their date, and she knew she had to tell him what had happened. Quietly, Phoebe spoke into her pasta. "They ran out of paper towels. I had to dry my face with toilet paper."

"No!" Ralphie guffawed. "You didn't!"

"This is my life." Phoebe sighed. "I figured you'd rather hear it from me than from Keesha through Carlos."

Ralphie paused for a minute to take a bite of spaghetti. "Once, going to a baseball game – it was a tournament game in the next county – I spilled something on my uniform pants. At a rest stop, I took off my pants, washed the stain off in the sink, and had to stand in the public bathroom in my underwear, holding my pants under the hand dryer for 15 minutes drying that thing off."

"Seriously?" Phoebe giggled.

"Yep. Have you ever put on damp pants? It's awful."

"Wow."

"So you're in good company." Ralphie took a bite of spaghetti.

"How is it?"

"Not bad. Yours?"

"It's okay." Phoebe wondered if she shouldn't have insisted on going somewhere else when Ralphie balked at her suggestion. The food wasn't very good at all, and the water tasted funny. They ate in silence. "Maybe we should've gone somewhere else." She said as she finished up her pasta. Ralphie shrugged.

Phoebe's phone buzzed. It was a text from Carlos: "Are you doing it yet?"

It was definitely tame by Carlos standards. Ralphie wondered if it would be even appropriate to ask what the message was. Judging by Phoebe's reaction, he might not want to know. Sally dropped off the check at their table.

Phoebe looked up at Ralphie and her stomach churned. Was this anaphylaxis? No, she would've stopped breathing by now. Right? It had to be nerves. She liked Ralphie; there had always been something charming about him and how they got along so easily. It was butterflies, that's all. Butterflies and not anaphylaxis.

"Are you okay?" Ralphie asked. It was turning into the question of the night.

"Yeah." Phoebe replied. Ralphie grabbed the tab and reached for his wallet. "Are you sure you want to get it?"

"Definitely." Ralphie smiled. "I asked you out."

"Okay."

"Hey, want to catch a movie?" Ralphie asked. He'd perked up a bit since admitting he was kind of a mess. Somehow getting it out in the open had helped. At least he hadn't talked about Linda and his daddy issues more than absolutely necessary. And Phoebe had listened and wasn't yawning or otherwise indicating that she needed to go home. They had to do something that wasn't awkward. A movie would give them two hours of quiet and something to talk about on the way home. It was perfect. "There's a theatre just down the block."

"Sure." Phoebe smiled, hoping this would fix the butterflies. "What do you want to see?" She asked as they walked toward the exit of the restaurant.

"You tell me." Ralphie put his arm around her waist.

"Oh no," Phoebe argued, reciprocating with an arm around Ralphie's waist. "I picked the restaurant."

"And I picked going to a movie. Now you pick the movie." They came to a stop at the sidewalk. "It's just a block or so this way. We can walk." They turned right and headed up the road.

"Fine, but you're picking the movie." Phoebe grinned.

"No, _you_ are!" It was a relief that something was finally going smoothly on this date, which had been off on the wrong foot since Ralphie had burned the shirt he'd wanted to wear while ironing it. Finally, they weren't talking about exes or fathers or toilet paper. They were having a regular date, like regular people.

Until Ralphie ran into a signpost. He hadn't at all been watching where he was going, and Phoebe hadn't seen it coming either.

She put a hand up to her mouth to disguise her surprise and suppress her laughter. For a moment, Ralphie was stunned at how much it actually hurt. After a few long moments, he laughed uncomfortably, and Phoebe's laughter broke forth.

"I'm sorry!" She gasped in the middle of the laughter. "I didn't even see it coming!"

"Me either." Ralphie's thoughts were slightly fuzzy. "Why were we walking so fast?"

"I don't know. Are you okay? Did it hurt?"

"It's a metal signpost." Ralphie stated. "It hurt." Phoebe reached up to touch where it had hurt.

"Sorry – sorry for laughing at you."

"Eh, I ran into a pole." He shrugged. Phoebe's hand on his face wasn't causing any more pain. "Let's go – and I promise I'll pay more attention to where I'm going this time."

"Sounds like a plan." Phoebe smiled.

"So… how's _your_ face doing?"

"Um… fine." She laughed uncomfortably. "So where's the theatre?" Her stomach wasn't feeling as queasy. Maybe it was just the restaurant that was making her sick.

They'd been walking for about four blocks. "I thought it was just up here." Ralphie thought out loud.

"Are you sure?"

"Well I was, but…" It occurred to Ralphie that maybe the theatre closed, or moved, or had been down the street rather than up it.

"How about we get some drinks instead?" Phoebe asked, indicating a bar just up ahead.

"Okay, but if it's a dive, we're leaving."

"Deal."

* * *

**author's ****note:**** hooray ****for ****all-night ****writing ****sessions!**


	4. chapter 4: drinks

**chapter ****4: ****drinks**

"You don't have to hate an entire baseball team, though, do you?" Phoebe asked, halfway into her Long Island iced tea.

"But I do!" Ralphie insisted. Under the influence of alcohol, his speech evolved into a very thick Philly accent, and it didn't take much alcohol to get him there. "They're the rivals. And we hate them."

"That's rivalry. Hating people is too much."

"I thought you were from Boston."

"That's different. The Yankees are just terrible people."

Ralphie held his hand up for a high-five, and Phoebe obliged.

"It's because of my dad. And the fact that they suck." Ralphie mused. "I wish the team would just die. Not the guys. The team. Like all the stuff would just spontaneously combust and there would be no more Mets. The world would be a better place, and the players could go on teams that don't suck."

"Muck the Fets." Phoebe said, indicating another patron's shirt.

"I need that shirt." Ralphie said seriously. "I need it now."

"Please don't take it from that man."

In the past hour or longer – with the help of some liquor – they had pretty much dumped out all of their emotional crap onto the proverbial table. Phoebe was lamenting not feeling or remembering much about her mother's death, with the help of another Long Island iced tea.

"Dude, you were, like, two." Ralphie argued.

"But I should have _felt_ something." Phoebe placed her empty cup down and wiped a tear form her eye. "She's my mom."

"Sometimes I'd rather feel nothing." Ralphie took a swig of whiskey. "I spent all this time trying to impress my dad."

"Well that's normal I guess."

"You know how I told everyone my dad's a chef?" Ralphie said suddenly. He felt like now was a good time to air all his dirty laundry. Phoebe already knew about the Mets; she may as well learn the truth about his dad. "At a restaurant in New York?"

"Um… yes."

"He has a food truck in Brooklyn." He looked over at Phoebe. "My mom met him because she went to his food truck during her residency." When she didn't react, he started laughing. "And _he_'s disappointed in _me_ for becoming a _doctor_?"

"What does he know?"

"Seriously." Thinking about it – how his father and mother used to fight, how he left for New York when he was nine – Ralphie felt sadness and anger welling up. "I just wanted him to be proud of me, you know?"

_Oh __God, __he__'__s __going __to __cry._ Phoebe realized. "He's already made up his mind."

"How can he be my dad if he's such a jerk?" Tears were welling up. Phoebe was frozen. Men didn't cry in front of her. "And now I'm crying in public."

"It's from running into the pole." Phoebe said convincingly. "It's the pain."

Ralphie ignored her attempts to explain it away. "The pain of my father being an asshole."

"At least your mom is awesome." Ralphie stared blankly ahead.

"Yeah."

"I have a random question." Phoebe remembered the previous conversation about baseball. "Has your mom ever punched someone?"

"What?"

"You said she liked the Phillies – and, you know how Phillies fans are." Phoebe remembered her uncle telling her about the tunnel from the stadium to a hotel so rival teams could avoid being beaten up by Phillies fans.

She had a feeling Ralphie could be one of those fans.

"She almost punched Linda." Ralphie smiled. "I wish she had."

"Linda?"

"My ex. The one that told me I'm a nerd."

"Why did you stay with her? She was mean. She was a mean person!"

"Because… it was stupid. I don't know. I didn't want to leave?" Ralphie mused. "Like leave her like my dad did. Or maybe it would be like if my arm was mean but I didn't cut it off, you know?"

"No."

"Like she was a part of me. And I couldn't live without her."

"You can live without your mean arm."

"Maybe, but it tricked me into thinking I couldn't." Ralphie started laughing at the illogical metaphor he'd made.

"Your tricky arm…" Phoebe giggled. "Sorry, it's not funny."

"But it is!" Ralphie had took a long drink of water. "We were talking about med schools, and Linda said something bad about Temple. My mom went to Temple for her undergrad. Linda told her that didn't mean bunk."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, and my mom's from South Philly – she about decked Linda." Ralphie beamed. "She doesn't put up with that shit from anyone."

"That's kind of awesome."

"I think she didn't because then she'd have to clean Linda's face up afterward. It's the whole doctor ethic thing."

"The Hippocratic Oath?"

"I'm pretty sure the Hippocratic Oath doesn't have 'I will not punch douchebags who insult my son' in it, but something like that. She likes people too much to hurt them. She did kick Linda out of her house though."

"I ran over my ex with a bike." Phoebe said before Ralphie could continue the Linda conversation. She had a feeling she didn't want to know about Linda.

"No way!"

"Well, I kind of tapped him with my bike tire. He said I ran him over. He said my dogs are mean."

"So you ran him over?"

"No, I met him when I ran him over. THEN he said my dogs are mean."

"Oh."

"I feel sick." Phoebe said, clutching her stomach. "I'm going to go to the bathroom."

"Okay." Ralphie watched her walk over to the bathrooms, just to be safe. She had only had a few drinks, but they were both drunk enough that he felt they shouldn't be alone – and he didn't want anything bad to happen to Phoebe. She emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later.

"I want to go home." She said. "I feel sick."

"Like alcohol sick?"

"No. Before the alcohol sick."

"You drank when you felt sick?"

"I didn't feel _sick_ then, and I didn't mean to get this drunk. Until the second drink that had vodka in it, then I did. It was like feelings lubricant." Phoebe explained.

"We can't drive." Ralphie said. "We will die. And get pulled over."

"We're in mortal peril." Phoebe said, pulling out her phone. "I'm calling Keesha."

"Don't." Ralphie reached out and put his hand over the phone. "How many drinks have you had?"

"Um… the one," Phoebe counted in her mind. "Three?"

"Okay." Ralphie took a quick assessment: he'd had two beers and a whiskey – so three drinks as well. "So that's three hours." Ralphie looked at the clock on his cell phone. "We have some time left until I'm okay to drive. How do you feel?"

"Ugh." Phoebe groaned. "Bad."

"Would going for a walk be okay?"

"Maybe."

"We can go to a park just down the street."

"Is it down the street the right way?" Phoebe asked.

"Or we can go sit in the car." Ralphie looked around the bar. "Let's go walk."

"Okay." Phoebe's face was pale. "I didn't know I was going to barf. Sorry."

"It's okay." Ralphie said as he paid their tab. "I didn't expect to drink this much."

"Me either." Phoebe steadied herself on Ralphie as they walked out the door. "It's just been crappy with work and … work."

"Yeah."

"They were messing with my charts, Ralphie." Phoebe said seriously. "They gave _Keesha_ to _Dr. __Crosby_."

"What about doctors Stills, Nash, and Young?" Ralphie asked, overly amused by his own stupid joke.

"They would quit." Phoebe wasn't amused. "He would mess with their charts. He would take their patients. He would –" Phoebe held up a finger and staggered over to a trash can to vomit.

Ralphie sincerely hoped he didn't look like some kind of criminal escorting a drunken, puking Phoebe down the street.

"Sorry." Phoebe said. "I know this isn't your favorite. The puking."

"I don't want you to get hit by a bus either." Ralphie added.

"Oh good." Phoebe put a hand on her forehead. "I don't feel as much like I'm going to fall down. This going for a walk is good."

"That's good," said Ralphie. "When we get to the car, we can just sit for a minute. Maybe we can get some of that tap water from the restaurant."

"Look, there's your pole!" Phoebe giggled, pointing at the post Ralphie had run into hours earlier.

"At least we're going the right way this time." The walk was clearing Ralphie's head a bit. It hadn't taken him much to get drunk to the point of over-sharing this time. Maybe it was because he hadn't really drunk liquor in a while. Maybe it was that Phoebe had downed her first cocktail and started talking, and he responded by sharing. The whiskey hadn't helped much. It did feel good to have it all out on the table.

"I want to go home." Phoebe whined. "I feel awful. I've never felt this awful before."

_Ouch,_ Ralphie thought, taking it personally before his doctor skills kicked in. "Awful how?"

"Awful like I'm not going to stop puking anytime soon." Phoebe grasped her stomach. "Awful like please don't get between me and a trashcan. I don't want to puke on you."

"What else?" Ralphie sat Phoebe down on a curb near the car.

"I have a headache. My stomach is cramping." Phoebe stood up quickly and dashed into the restaurant, still a little wobbly. Ralphie stood up a little too fast and went in after her. He asked the hostess for a paper bag. Phoebe emerged from the bathroom after a few minutes.

"You're out of paper towels." Phoebe said weakly to the hostess. "Still." She added to Ralphie.

Ralphie put an arm around Phoebe and took her back outside. "Have you ever felt like this before?"

"No." Phoebe shook her head.

"Any other symptoms besides the vomiting, headache, and cramps?"

Phoebe pursed her lips. Why did he have to be a doctor? This pressing line of inquiry was slightly irritating, even though he was definitely well-meaning.

"I – uh – had to go to the bathroom rather suddenly." Phoebe blushed.

"Okay." Ralphie nodded. "And what did you have to eat today?"

"Coffee. Cereal – regular Cheerios with a banana." Phoebe had a feeling that this was turning from a date to a visit to an ER. "A taco salad for lunch." Ralphie looked like he was thinking of something.

"What was on the salad?" He asked.

"Chicken, black beans, corn, lettuce, salsa, cheese… you know, taco salad stuff." Ralphie was deep in thought. Phoebe asked, "You think I have salmonellosis?"

Ralphie was impressed that she knew that. "I can't tell that by looking at you." He explained. "It'd require some lab work."

"Right." Phoebe rubbed her forehead.

"Do you feel like you have a fever?"

"Maybe."

"Okay," Ralphie steered her to the car and opened the door for her. He looked at his cell phone clock. "I should be okay to drive."

"Please don't take me to the ER. I don't want to go to the ER." Phoebe sat down. Ralphie handed her the paper bag. "Not on a date."

"I'm not taking you to the ER." Ralphie sat in the car and buckled himself in. "I'm taking you to Wawa."

"Are you going to get a steak?" Phoebe asked weakly.

"I'm going to get you something to drink. What kind of Gatorade do you like?"

"Red flavor. Red is my favorite." Phoebe mused. "Can I just say something?"

"Sure." Ralphie pulled out of the parking spot and tried to think of the nearest Wawa on the way back to Walkerville.

"This is the weirdest date ever." When Ralphie didn't say anything, she continued. "I am allergic to my face. You ran into a pole. We both started crying in public. And now I've got food poisoning."

"Please don't barf on me." Ralphie looked over at her suspiciously.

"You're a _doctor_, Ralphie."

"So? Do you like getting peed on? Is that your favorite part of being a vet?"

"No, but I don't _mind._" Phoebe argued. "And I don't mind vomit, and I don't mind –" she held the bag to her mouth.

"I kind of hate vomit." Ralphie confessed as Phoebe vomited. "I have a sensitive stomach. Can we talk about something else?"

_My __grandparents __would __have __a __heyday __with __this._ Phoebe thought. _A __doctor __with __a __sensitive __stomach. A doctor who worked in the ER, could perform surgery, but didn't like vomit._

"Don't give me that look." He shook his head. "I am amazing with blood and guts and bones and mucous and everything except vomit."

"Fine." Phoebe conceded. This would be a good chance to change the subject. "You got any music?" She turned on his radio before Ralphie could hit the volume control.

"HE'S THE KIND OF LOVER THAT THE LADIES DREAM ABOUT!" REO Speedwagon bellowed out of the speakers, startling Phoebe, who struggled to keep her barf bag from spilling.

"I was getting pumped up." He explained as he turned it down. Phoebe didn't say anything and was suppressing a bit of a giggle. "To REO Speedwagon."

"Don't they have a ton of breakup songs?" Ralphie squared his jaw. "Songs about being cheated on…"

"Yes." Ralphie replied. "But they're awesome."

"Why were you listening to a song about a guy?"

Ralphie took a deep breath.

"I'm not judging you. I'm asking. I really want to know."

"Psyching myself up. And it rocks. Wait until the organ solo."

"I'm not disputing that it rocks!" Phoebe smiled. "You don't have enough of a mullet to be an REO Speedwagon song protagonist, that's all."

"Is that a bad thing?" Ralphie smiled. "I can grow a mullet. And a creepy moustache."

"Please don't." Phoebe smiled.

"Besides, REO wrote one of the best power ballads of all time." Before Phoebe could interject, Ralphie reiterated, "OF. ALL. TIME."

"I know." Phoebe managed to sneak in before Ralphie continued.

"I used to psych myself up with 'Walk Like a Man.'" _What was this, confessional?_ Ralphie wondered why he was just randomly sharing bits of his life with Phoebe.

"_Really?_" Phoebe was incredulous. She knew Ralphie liked oldies, as she did, but not as date-psyching-up music. She'd expect something more along the lines of Led Zeppelin. "That's a breakup song!"

"Maybe that's why I suck at dating then." Ralphie shrugged. "Maybe I should listen to 'Unchained Melody.'"

"You don't suck at dating." Phoebe hoped this wave of nausea would wait until after this part of the conversation. "Is that what she told you? Because she's not a nice person. Don't believe anything she said. She made fun of REO, didn't she?"

"She's a bitch."

"No;" Phoebe corrected. "I work with bitches all day. They're great. This woman is heinous."

Ralphie laughed a little bit. There was another lull in the conversation as the guitar solo swelled into the part of the song Ralphie usually belted out when he was alone.

"Baby, don't let him go! He just needs a chance to grow!" REO Speedwagon sang. "Take it easy, take it slow, and don't let him go!"

Now this awful date had an uncanny soundtrack. Ralphie punched the buttons on the CD player quickly and hoped he didn't look nearly as self-conscious as he felt.

"Fine, you want some date-psyching up music?" He hit the buttons on the CD player a few times. He definitely skipped past "I Can't Fight this Feeling," despite its status as his favorite power ballad. (He didn't usually admit to having a favorite power ballad.) He'd reached his quota of the music elevating the already supreme awkward level of this date.

Phoebe vomited.

"Okay then, no more REO."

"No, it's fine." Phoebe said. "I can't believe I'm still puking."

Ralphie gritted his teeth and pulled into a parking spot across from the Wawa. "I'm going to get you some red Gatorade and some water."

"Okay." Phoebe said.

"Stay right there." Ralphie got out and rushed into the Wawa. Phoebe looked around. They were in the middle of Center City, by Reading Terminal Market. Maybe if they would've gone there and got steaks like Ralphie wanted, none of this would have happened and everything would have been normal. Ralphie was back before the end of the song.

"That was quick."

"I'm an expert Wawa shopper." Ralphie tossed the plastic bag toward Phoebe's feet and took her paper bag, depositing it in a trash can on the street. "It's one of those bonus skills I learned in college."

"Like which food trucks are awesome."

"And which will give you food poisoning."

"I didn't eat at a food truck today."

"Where did you eat lunch?" Ralphie asked, making a hard right immediately after exiting the parking spot. "Sorry."

"I don't know, some restaurant down the street. I've eaten there before."

"Drink the Gatorade."

"No more sharp turns." Phoebe groaned.

"Okay. Don't drink it fast, just sip it." Ralphie instructed. "I got you more paper bags." That was code for "please don't puke on my car."

"Thanks." Phoebe opened the Gatorade and took a sip. "Just take me home. I'll get Hunt in the morning."

"I can pick him up for you." Ralphie offered. "Whatever I can do to help."

"Thanks," Phoebe smiled.

The car ride back to Walkerville wasn't nearly as awkward as the one to Philly. Phoebe stopped puking once they got on the Expressway. They talked about living in the city, the weirdest things they'd seen on public transportation, and whatever else came to mind.

"Okay," Ralphie said as he pulled into Phoebe's driveway. He unbuckled the seatbelt and held a hand up to Phoebe as she reached for the door handle. "Let me get that for you." As Phoebe got out, Ralphie pushed the lock on the door down. As he swung the door shut, he got a glimpse of something shiny near the emergency brake.

His car keys.

* * *

**author's ****note:**

Something had to go wrong with the car. It just had to.

Wawa is a convenience store filled of awesome and win.

The "Muck the Fets" shirt really exists. And yes, Ralphie must have it.

Ralphie was listening to "Don't Let Him Go," which is a pretty rockin' song.


	5. chapter 5: mind if I come in?

**chapter 5: mind if I come in?**

Ralphie decided to make sure Phoebe got in and situated before he dealt with locking his keys in his car. He followed her to the porch and watched her turn the key in the deadbolt.

Phoebe looked at him, confused. "What are you doing?"

"I just want to make sure you get settled in, that's all." Phoebe's expression didn't change. Ralphie took a deep breath and said what he was thinking instead of what would ease any awkwardness. "I'm not trying to have sex with you." Phoebe blushed. "Well I'm not."

"Okay then." Phoebe didn't know what to make of it. She was probably going to spend the next 48 hours camped near a bathroom anyway.

They stood on Phoebe's porch, staring at each other. Phoebe's hand rested on the doorknob.

"I think we've easily reached awkwardness level five by now." Ralphie mused out loud.

Phoebe thought a moment, then nodded. "Look," she said. "I don't know what to say."

Ralphie looked at her. Her face was still red from the makeup reaction, but it was returning to its normal color. She looked tired. She obviously didn't feel well.

The usual roundabout ways of saying things wouldn't work here. She would have to tell the truth or look like an idiot. "I can't say I want to do this again sometime." Phoebe started. "And I wish I could say I had a good time, but I think I threw up too much for that."

"I think you did." Ralphie had never had to factor in amounts of vomit on a date before. It was not something he wanted to do again, either. Phoebe looked downcast. "Look, I'm sorry – I shouldn't have dumped all of my baggage on you. It wasn't fair."

To his surprise, Phoebe gave him a hug. _But __this __conversation __was __a__ '__thanks __but __no __thanks__'…_ he thought. "It's okay." She said, still holding on.

"I'm sorry this date sucked." Ralphie whispered.

"Me too." Phoebe decided to continue her honesty streak and just say what she felt. Although it gave her a nervous pit in her stomach to think about it, she said, "Because I really like you."

Ralphie's grip on her tightened, but suddenly Phoebe tensed up and was desperately pulling away. She was aiming for the bushes next to her porch, but managed to get some vomit on the shoulder of Ralphie's shirt.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" She exclaimed. Ralphie couldn't help it. He started laughing.

"Of course, the way this was going… of course you would puke on me."

"I didn't mean to!"

"I know." Ralphie said. "So, um… do you mind if I come in? I can get you a bowl or whatever to puke in."

"Oh sure," Phoebe turned back to the door and opened it.

"One more thing. I locked my keys in the car."

Phoebe laughed feebly. "This has got to be the unluckiest date ever. Do you have a spare key?"

"Of course I do; it's at my apartment."

"How far away are you?"

"My apartment key is also locked in the car."

"Oh."

"And the spare for that is in the car."

"Oh." Phoebe thought a moment.

"Do you by any chance have a shirt I could borrow?" Ralphie glanced at the smelly wet mark on his shoulder. "I really, really hate puke."

"Sure," Phoebe went into her room and rummaged through her dresser. She considered her hospitality options as she tossed Ralphie an oversized Penn shirt. "Want to sleep on the couch? Think of what the gang will say!"

"Josie's at home alone. Let me try to get a hold of Arnold." Ralphie took his shirt off and folded it neatly so the puke was on the inside. Phoebe told herself she wasn't staring.

"I got the shirt for free. They only had extra-larges left."

"I thought you only got polo shirts in the Ivy League." Ralphie snarked as he pulled the shirt over his head.

"We don't wear polos to bed." Phoebe remarked. "Just be glad it wasn't the one Keesha wanted to buy for me that says 'I perform castrations for a living.'"

"Nice." Ralphie nodded slowly. "Remind me never to piss you off." He pulled out his phone and called Arnold. No answer.

"I still haven't called in any mortal peril to Keesha." Phoebe offered.

"They're probably all asleep by now." Ralphie sighed. "And I'd never give Carlos the key to my apartment."

"You're welcome to stay." Phoebe thought a moment. "I have an extra toothbrush."

* * *

Keesha, knowing that Ralphie would never cause Phoebe any mortal peril, had left her phone in her purse all night to keep her from being tempted to text her best friend intermittently. After getting out of bed and sauntering around the best she could with a broken foot the next morning, Keesha made it to her phone.

Nothing.

"What?" Keesha asked her phone.

"What?" Carlos asked back.

"Phoebe didn't call me. Or text me. Or anything!"

"Your little birdie has grown up!" Carlos called down the stairs. They shared a fairly new townhome they were able to snag when the previous owners had to short-sell it. It had three bedrooms, which was plenty: a master bedroom, a guest room, and an office decorated with Temple regalia, including Carlos' DDS diploma. Although Carlos was making quite a bit of money as a dentist, they both had a boatload of student loans to pay off. They figured they'd "swankify" their townhome and sell it, enabling them to move on to bigger and better things in the long run.

"Or she lost her phone." Keesha wondered. She called Phoebe. "And now she's not answering."

"I hope this means what I think it means." Carlos smirked.

"Carlos… seriously."

"I'm going to drive by her house." Carlos decided. "Drop off the dog."

"What if she's not home?" Keesha asked.

"Then we come back. Come on, Hunt, want to go for a car ride?"

* * *

"Still no answer." Ralphie rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Arnold…"

"Okay, so why do you and Arnold live in an apartment if you've both got advanced degrees?" Phoebe was sitting on the couch with a tupperware bowl, just in case.

"Student loans." Ralphie shrugged. "And we don't want to buy a place yet."

Phoebe tried to ignore the image she got of Arnold and Ralphie looking at places together, like an adorable gay couple, but she couldn't.

"But Arnold may be moving downtown, so we'll see." Ralphie texted "CALL ME NOW" to Arnold.

"But I'm busy." Arnold replied.

"Dammit, Arnold." Ralphie muttered as he texted "I'm locked out of my car."

"What if I'm in Pittsburgh?"

"Then I will kill you. Think of the dog." Ralphie looked up from his phone. "So… Arnold may be on the other side of the state."

"Can't you call your landlord?" Phoebe suggested.

"Changing the locks on Arnold sounds just about mean enough…" Ralphie mused. He looked down at his phone.

"Please don't kill me. I'm in Philly." Arnold wrote. "I will save you."

There was a knock at the door. Phoebe and Ralphie exchanged a look before Phoebe went to the door. Ralphie had wanted to get the door for her (the last thing he wanted was for Phoebe to puke on anyone else), but he had no idea who'd be there and what they'd think. She opened it just wide enough to stick her head out. It was Carlos and Huntington.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Carlos tried to peer past Phoebe into the house.

"Nope."

"So... Ralphie's here." Carlos could swear Phoebe paled when he said so. "His car's out front."

"He locked his keys in his car." Phoebe took the leash and tote bag. The door swung open more than she'd wanted it to.

"Can't I say hello to Ralphie?" Carlos asked.

"Hi Carlos." Ralphie waved from the couch.

"Dude, are you wearing her clothes?" Carlos pushed the door open wider.

"Do you really want to know?" Ralphie replied.

"It looks like I already do." Carlos raised his eyebrows and pushed past Phoebe into the house. Huntington was waggling like crazy at the end of his leash, trying to get to Ralphie. "So… why didn't you answer your phone, Phoebe?"

"I was probably puking." Phoebe replied. Two could play Carlos's stupid game. She asked Huntington to sit, then took off his collar. He immediately ran up to Ralphie and began sniffing and licking his hands.

"From the sex? He's _that __bad?_" Carlos exclaimed. Ralphie rolled his eyes.

"From the food poisoning I got yesterday." Phoebe's work cell rang in the other room and Phoebe rushed over to it. "Oh crap… probably an HBC…"

"What?" Ralphie & Carlos asked.

"Hit by car." Phoebe explained.

"MVA." Ralphie clarified to himself. "Motor vehicle accident." He explained when Carlos looked confused.

"Whatever." Carlos shrugged.

"Phoebe, we're going to need you to come in today to catch up on some wellness exams." Dr. Crosby said.

Phoebe knew what this was really about. "I can't. I have food poisoning."

"Right."

"Seriously." Phoebe replied. "Do you want a doctor's note?"

"I don't have my forms on me." Ralphie whispered. "Or I'd totally do it." Phoebe nodded.

"Oh, so now you're writing doctor's notes for each other?" Carlos asked playfully.

"Check it out." Ralphie dug in his pocket and pulled out the prescription for Phoebe's phone number.

"She can't get you out of work though."

"I do sports medicine." Ralphie explained. "Food-borne illnesses usually go to other doctors."

"It was fine," Phoebe was saying. "I hope to be back in Monday. I'll talk with Millie's owner to reschedule her to a time I can see her." Then she hung up and rolled her eyes. "The man never says goodbye."

"They were trying to get you to come in?" Ralphie asked.

"For details." Phoebe explained.

"I say we make up details." Ralphie suggested.

"No." Carlos warned. "Real only."

"You won't believe the real details." Phoebe got the bottle of Gatorade out of the fridge. Huntington followed her, hoping for a snack.

"You're out of Gatorade." Ralphie observed as she downed the end of it, then looked at Carlos inquisitively. "Let's get you some more."

"I am not making a drink run for your girlfriend, dude." Carlos said. "I'm not leaving you two alone for 'just a minute' because I'll come back and I know you'll –"

"Fine. I'll come with you." Ralphie said. Phoebe lay down on the couch. Huntington jumped up on her out of habit, and she held her arms and made sure he didn't lie on her abdomen. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah." Phoebe smiled. Ralphie kissed her on the cheek and followed Carlos out the door. Phoebe's phone rang, and she grabbed it off the coffee table. After looking at the caller ID, she smiled and answered it. "Keesha."

"Phoebe." Keesha replied flatly. "How was it?"

"I'm not gonna lie." Phoebe said. "It was probably the worst date of my life."

"Damn. What happened?"

Phoebe thought about telling the whole story. "I threw up on him."

"That's it?"

"I'm pretty sure he told me all of his daddy issues. And his ex issues." Phoebe listed. "I got food poisoning. Oh, and the makeup you made me wear? It made my face swell up."

"Damn." Keesha repeated.

"He compared me to his mom." Phoebe continued.

Keesha shook her head, flabbergasted. _I __told __him __to __get __his __Oedipus __thing __checked __out._ She thought. "Did anything good happen?"

"Well he stayed the night." Before Keesha could get anything in, Phoebe added, "Because he locked his keys in the car and Arnold wasn't answering. And he slept on the couch."

"Seriously?" Keesha sighed. "Did you at least kiss?"

"I was too busy barfing."

"Only you, Phoebe." Keesha shook her head. "So where is he now? Sitting right next to you?"

"Carlos took him to the store to get me some more Gatorade. Arnold's probably coming over to unlock Ralphie's car."

"Sounds like I'm missing the party."

"I'm too sick to party."

"So…" Keesha started. "What happens when you aren't puking any more?"

Without thinking, Phoebe replied. "I go back to work…"

"With Ralphie, idiot." Keesha listened as Phoebe said nothing, instead opting to bite her lip. This would be the perfect time to puke, which, of course, meant it wasn't going to happen.

"I'd go out with him again."

* * *

**author's ****note:**

So… the point of this fic was to write the worst date I possibly could while having the two characters still interested in each other (which is one reason why it's R/P – I love them too much to break them up. Also, I am very very mean to them, and they're so awkward. It's a recipe for horribly awkward awful date.) It was interesting and fun.

Sorry it took me a year to get back to it. We'll see what's next, huh? National Novel Writing Month IS coming up...

Thanks to all of you who read, especially those who reviewed! I was shocked when I came back and people had read this thing!


End file.
